In which we are London-bound
I DO NOT KNOW IF the Boston Council for Boston was a going concern before I stumbled across that stone foundation on the Watertown Road. But since I’d discovered it, it existed historically. An upstart private company of enterprising Calvinists in the original Boston (in Lincolnshire, England), it was created twenty-five years before the founding of the New World’s Boston and actually had nothing to do with it; its purpose was to bring money back to its founders’ local economy. An odd mixture of socialism, isolationism, and snark, the Boston Council for Boston’s name really meant: “Our Council for Us.”
Research into the Boston Council for Boston quickly revealed that in late September 1601, the company (which was otherwise about to fall apart before it had so much agreed upon an initial investment) got backing from one of its native sons, Edward Greylock, whose father had adroitly married into a family of Continental bankers, and as a result, risen in prominence in Queen Elizabeth’s court—albeit on the outskirts. As of 1601 the son—Sir Edward Greylock—lived primarily in London. Further research into Sir Edward showed him (and his fortune) to have cavorted a good bit with the adventurer George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, founding member of the East India Company, which had been founded only at the end of the previous year.
If Sir Edward could be persuaded to give the East India Company his coin, and not merely his society, then the Boston Council for Boston would never get the funds required to go to America, and thus never build their inconvenient syrup boiler on the road to Watertown. The next DTAP would have to be the city of London, 1601.
This is how we met Gráinne.
Journal Entry of
Rebecca East-Oda
JULY 10
Temperature 81F, slight breeze from southwest. Barometer steady.
Container garden on front steps: kale, lettuce have germinated. Tea roses doing well in their new setting. Flame azalea almost passed.
It is decided: Tristan will go to Renaissance London. I find myself relieved to be off the hook now as I can be of no practical help. There have been long days of discussion and theorizing and research to establish a possible witch in that DTAP, but there is no way to know.
In the absence of an individual witch to target, Tristan has proposed he be Sent to a setting that is likely to attract witches. Erszebet followed the development of this plan with some private amusement, it seemed to me. I am not at all certain that she cares whether or not we succeed.
To determine the sort of place witches might be drawn to, it becomes necessary to psychologically profile the average witch. Having only Erszebet and a cursory experience of Goody Fitch as a sample population is hardly sufficient, but the only other source is secondary: Erszebet’s memories of other witches. These memories may say more about Erszebet herself, or her circumstances, than they do about her mother, her mentor, etc. But the general type we arrived at was this:
A witch generally speaks her mind when she can get away with it, doesn’t care much about what men think, and is determined to have agency over her fate, even in a time and place when such a thing was hard to come by (which, Erszebet added, was most of human history). Based on Erszebet herself, and her claims of her mother’s behavior, it is also possible witches enjoyed the influence they had over men by their attractiveness, but this does not seem to be tempered by any fondness for the men whose heads they enjoyed turning.
Sitting in Frank’s study—where I preferred we congregate when the ODEC or office equipment was not specifically required—the four of us, with Erszebet watching, sat musing upon this collection of traits, as the two household cats wound their way around Frank’s legs.
“This isn’t flattering,” said Tristan, “but this also fits the psychological profile of a lot of prostitutes.”
Erszebet laughed.
“No disrespect,” Tristan said.
“It is amusing that it has taken you so many hours to come to this conclusion.”
“You mean you already knew? You could have told us this and saved us a lot of time.”
“Yes,” said Erszebet, pleased.
“Why didn’t you?”
“You put me through my paces to see what I could do, I wanted to see what it was like to be in your position. I have enjoyed it.”
A moment of Tristan silently grinding his teeth. “So you are confirming that we need to look for prostitutes.”
“Not any prostitutes. But it makes sense, yes?” she said. “It is one way to have children without the bother of husbands.”
“I don’t buy that,” said Melisande. “That’s a totally romanticized image of sex workers. They’re generally poor and disenfranchised, and a witch with any savvy at all would never choose such a life, for herself or her children. In the documents I translated, witches were considered powerful and valuable by whoever was in charge. Even if they were seen as dangerous, they were valued.”
“That doesn’t mean they were married,” said Erszebet. “We didn’t need to be married to have power.”
Mel looked doubtful. “So was that the norm for witches? Being, what, a courtesan, or at least someone’s ‘kept woman’?”
Erszebet gave Mel a look. “I am only one witch and have lived in only one society of witches, at one moment in history. You with your translations have a broader knowledge than I do. But such a thing was referred to casually by my mother’s friends. If a witch wanted children, there were always the wealthy men around who can treat you well and support a bastard without wanting to have to publicly acknowledge it.”
A heavy thought came over me. “Did you do that?” I asked. “I mean . . . did you have children?”
Erszebet gave me a look that scorched my liver. “Of course not,” she said after a moment. “I could not bear the thought that I would live to watch them age and wither and die and I would still be here and have to bury them.”
There was a long and uncomfortable pause. Mel looked down, seemed almost to huddle over herself.
Tristan coughed. “So we need to look for . . . courtesans? High-ranking mistresses, that sort of thing.”
“I would say so,” said Erszebet loftily.
“Hang on,” said Mel, looking up. “This DTAP was near the end of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, right? I don’t know how much autonomy attractive, powerful women would be allowed in courtly circles, I think Elizabeth was increasingly paranoid and jealous as she aged. So maybe common prostitutes after all.”
“No,” said Erszebet. “We would not tolerate being common.”
“Maybe an uncommon prostitute, then, who had her own reasons for staying away from the court,” Mel suggested.
“There were a lot of brothels in Southwark, where the theatres were,” I offered. “I read that in the program notes for Henry IV when Boston Shakespeare did it.”
“What do you think?” Tristan asked Erszebet. “Does Southwark sound right to you?”
She sniffed. “I have never heard of this place. But if it is full of troublesome women then you might be in luck.”